Something Is Better Than Nothing
by r4ven3
Summary: Set early in S9, after 9.1, this is a short story in 4 chapters – a one-shot which got away from me. Harry and Ruth, with no-one else, and no plot to speak of. While not altogether serious, nor could it be classified as humorous, and nor is it original. Just some quite gentle Harry and Ruth.
1. Chapter 1

Harry sits in his favourite chair, glass in one hand, while the other rests on his thigh. He stares ahead, barely seeing the window, or the garden beyond. He is past being upset. He is beyond anger. He is even beyond hurt.

Harry is sour. He is morose. He suspects he may be depressed.

Ruth is back. She has been back for over a year. He had spent almost three years missing her terribly, perhaps more than he should. After all, they'd not ever been lovers …... just almost. He'd see her in crowds on the street. He'd see her in his dreams, and first thing on waking, he is sure he'd see her lying in bed next to him …... but only for a moment. He'd see her on the Grid, a shadow in his peripheral vision …. elusive, ephemeral.

And then she came back, and the events of her first twenty-four hours in London almost broke them both. They had taken a long time to again become close. Nothing has been the same as it had once been, and he'd almost given up hoping it ever would, when she'd asked him for a drink after work. They hadn't made it to having that drink, and she hadn't asked again – and nor had he – but some deadlock had been broken, and again his heart had filled with hope …... his first small sip of water after his long trek across the desert.

And then after Ros' funeral, he had suggested she marry him. At the time, he'd thought it fair, and appropriate, and he'd been sure she'd agree. They were not people who made grand gestures, like getting down on one knee with a rose in one hand, and a ring in the other. He had not really thought it through, and perhaps he should have. But should he? After all, they'd again become close friends – confidants – and all that had been missing had been …... cohabiting, commitment, intimacy …... and sex. He had wanted all of it – he still wants it all - and he'd been sure she would agree. After all, she'd lived with George ….. shared his house, his bed, his life. She knew what to do, how to be, and surely she'd known that's what had been missing between them.

Somewhat regretfully, she'd said no.

She'd said something else, too, something which still has him flummoxed. She'd said they couldn't be more together than they already were. Her words had assaulted him, like a verbal slap. He hadn't known what to say, what to do, how to make it right, so he'd said nothing. He now wishes he had said something, even if it had been, `Ruth, I don't agree with you. Can we talk about this?'

Now he has words stuck in his throat, words which he'd like to be saying to her. He takes another sip of scotch, swirling it around in his mouth before swallowing. Then he carefully places the glass on the table by his chair, picks up his phone, and presses the first name on the speed dial.

* * *

><p>Three miles away, the subject of his contemplation has been standing at the sink, scrubbing the frying pan. She'd made scrambled eggs for her dinner, and had forgotten to use spray oil on the pan. She'd scrubbed and scrubbed, and while she scrubbed, her thoughts had strayed from the frying pan to the conversation she and Harry had had on the roof balcony. She'd suggested they were fine as they were – working together closely, being good friends, sharing an exclusive working relationship. She'd always viewed their working relationship as being intimate. She and Harry are like a married couple. It's just that they never go home together, nor do they share a home or a bed, and they'd never had sex.<p>

So …... is that alright with her?

Since her return from Cyprus, she'd not asked herself that question. She'd not been brave enough to ask herself was a working relationship with Harry enough for her. Why is that? Because she already knows the answer. Her answer will always be the same. Her answer will be -

_No!_

Ruth stops scrubbing, and decides to leave the frying pan to soak for a while. Her answer surprises her like nothing else has surprised her in the past week …... not even Harry's clumsy and unexpected proposal. Ruth grabs a mug and a teabag and makes herself a cup of tea. She'd rather a glass of wine, but this time she needs her mind to be clear and focused, and most of all she needs to be honest with herself.

She takes her tea into the living room, where she sits on her sofa, contemplating the one glowing bar on her gas fire. She's always wanted Harry. Ever since the EERIE exercise seven years earlier, when she'd called him a bastard, she has wondered what intimacy with him would be like. She'd been shocked that morning by her response to his deception towards his team. She'd been shocked by the power of her grief over his inevitable death ….. a death which was not - after all - inevitable.

She's entertained fantasies and daydreams about Harry for years. Even when she was in bed with George, kissing George, responding to George, writhing underneath or on top of George, more often than not she'd be imagining him to be Harry. A sexual relationship with Harry had only even taken place inside her head. When she had kissed him goodbye that cold morning before she'd gone into exile, she'd felt free to do so because she was leaving, and would never see him again. They were an `almost' which could never be more. That made kissing him safe.

Were she to kiss him now, he'd want more, and she wouldn't be brave enough to be more than his close friend at work. So …... if she wants him that much, why doesn't she tell him? It's clear to her that he'd not say no. While she's thinking about that, she makes herself another cup of tea. She even has another go at scrubbing the frying pan. Anything to take her mind from where it is clearly headed.

After she finishes her second cup of tea, Ruth decides to ring Harry. They have to talk. Where they are is nowhere at all, and it is all her fault.

It takes Ruth a while to find her phone. She has to trace her steps from the moment she'd arrived home, until she finds herself back in her bedroom, searching for her bag. She hears her phone's ringtone – a muffled sound from inside her bag, which is underneath her jacket, both of which she'd flung on to the bed. She tosses aside her jacket, opens her bag, and retrieves her phone. According to some universal law of electronic communication, just as her hand grasps her phone, it stops ringing. She looks at the display to see five calls, and two voice mail – all from Harry. _Well, if it's a red flash, he can go to hell_, she thinks. She is in the middle of her own personal emergency. She presses his name to return his call, and he answers almost before the first ring has ended.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?" He blurts out the words, and Ruth knows him well enough to hear the panic behind them.

"I only just found it. It was upstairs, under a pile of stuff."

"You're upstairs now, though."

"How ….?"

"I'm outside. In my car."

"Why?"

"I was …... worried about you. I need to talk to you."

"And I also need to talk to you."


	2. Chapter 2

10 minutes later:

Ruth sits on her sofa, watching Harry through the kitchen doorway as he opens the bottle of red wine he'd brought with him. Like every time he is fully occupied with a task, his face is serious and focused, and his lips protrude in a pout, while a frown furrows his forehead. She loves that about him. Her eyes take in the expanse of his shoulders, down his arms to his strong hands, where one hand grasps the bottle, while the other pulls the corkscrew to remove the cork. She wonders how those hands would feel were they to glance across her bare skin. His shoulders curve, and he stands with one foot slightly in front of the other. She is still gazing at his legs, trying to determine the shape of them inside his trousers, when he turns towards her. She lifts her eyes to see him watching her, one eyebrow lifted.

"Is there something wrong?" he asks.

She shakes her head, perhaps too vigorously. "No. I was just …..." She can hardly say, `I was trying to imagine what you'd look like without clothes,' so she says nothing more.

"We both do it, you know," he says, sitting at a safe distance in a chair across the coffee table from where she is sitting. "We secretly watch one another, hoping the other won't notice. I always know when you're watching me."

Ruth nods as he hands her her wine, and she takes a gulp …... anything so that she'll not be tempted to speak, just in case she speaks the truth to him …... just in case her words shock him. Harry sits back in the chair, and watches her while she concentrates on avoiding eye contact.

"I know what you're thinking when you watch me, you know," he continues. Ruth wishes he'd shut up. "I know that you think about me the same way I think about you."

Ruth is relieved when he stops speaking, and focuses on his glass of wine. They sit in silence for another few minutes. Ruth avoids looking his way, while Harry again tries to engage her by watching her. She can't stand it – this distance between them – and she knows now that it's all her fault. She knows that all the awkwardness, the silences, the misunderstanding, even Harry's odd marriage proposal, which had seemed to come out all wrong …... it's all down to her. She has been damaged by all she has lived through, and she hopes she has not damaged any chance there is for she and Harry to try to make something work between them.

She can't stand only being able to love Harry in her head.

She can't stand only being free to kiss him when they are about to part forever.

She can't stand never knowing what he looks like under his clothes, what his bare skin would feel like against her own.

She can't stand to never know how it would feel to have him moving inside her.

How is it she has denied herself – and them – the very thing they both want?

Why has she done this? Why is she _still_ doing it, even after having admitted to herself that it is he she wants?

"Harry …..." she begins, her eyes lifting only momentarily to see his eyes on her, their softness almost too much to bear. "I'm really …... really sorry."

He nods, and there is the slightest of smiles around his mouth. Ruth takes a breath. She has something to say, and she must say it. If she doesn't say it now, it may never be said ….. ever.

"Harry …... I have something quite important to ask you."

Harry nods again.

"Why …... why do you want to marry me?"

"Isn't that obvious?"

"Not to me. I'd thought we were fine …... as we are, but now I know …... that's not true. How will being married change that? I need to know …... how you see us ….. that way."

This time it is he who looks down, turning his wine glass around in his hands, as he plans what to say next. "Why do you need to know, Ruth?"

"Because …..." She stumbles then. She knows that she holds all the cards …... well, most of them. She knows that were she to again deny him, deny _them_, there may be no going back. Were she to again say no to Harry, that would surely be the end …. for them. There is only so much rejection he can take. "Because I'd like to know what it was I said no to …... so that I can …. perhaps …... reconsider."

Ruth looks up into Harry's eyes, as he very carefully places his wine glass on the coffee table, and folds his hands between his knees as he leans forward, preparing to speak.

"How would you describe our working relationship, Ruth?" His voice is soft, gentle, and Ruth has a fleeting image of him speaking softly to one of his children as a baby. She imagines his hands holding the child close to him, leaning his face down to …...

Ruth sits up straight, and again meets his eyes across the table.

"I see it as close, warm, respectful …... and in its own way, it is …... intimate, and …... exclusive. We work very well together. What you can't do, I can, and …... vice versa. We're …... very good together. We complement one another."

Harry is nodding as she speaks. So he agrees. "How do you think we would be were we to go home together each night? How would we be as partners …... under the same roof?"

"I suppose we'd …... be much the same, really. We'd share tasks, and some you'd do, and some I would do. We'd argue sometimes, but that's normal …... isn't it?"

Harry nods. "It is. And how do you think it might work for us in the bedroom, Ruth?"

She'd known this was coming, and she's determined to approach the subject in an adult manner. After all, Harry is a man, and he wants to sleep with her. He's never actually said so, though, so …...

"Do you want me in the bedroom, Harry?"

"Of course I do. Can't you tell?"

This time, Ruth shakes her head. She's sure that he must want there to be …... activities of an intimate nature in the bedroom, but they've never talked about it. He's not ever shown her that he wants that.

"Do you mind if I come around and sit next to you? What I have to say is best said while we're sitting close to one another."

Ruth nods, and she is afraid the power of speech – which so far has been rather working well for her – has suddenly left her.

Suddenly, Harry is sitting beside her – close, but not touching. Ruth glances across to see that his knee is very close to her own. Without thinking about it, she reaches out with her hand, and rests it on his thigh, quite close to his knee. He doesn't pull away. He doesn't do anything. She looks into his face to see him smiling at her.

"What do you think?" he says.

"You're warm, Harry."

"Of course I am. Ruth ….. would you like it if I held your hand?"

She nods, and then looks down to see his hand close to her own. She turns her hand so that her palm faces upwards, and he grasps her hand in his, lacing his fingers between hers. When he settles their joined hands on his thigh, Ruth breathes out.

"Better?" he asks, and she nods, smiling up at him. It is not until she leans back and relaxes that Harry continues to speak. "Why did you ask me whether I want to sleep with you? Isn't it obvious that I do?"

"Other than when you asked me to marry you, no. Since my return from Cyprus, you've not shown any interest in me in that way. That's why I thought that working together might be enough …... for you."

"Ruth …... look at me.".

She slowly lifts her eyes to his, where all she sees is kindness.

"Ruth …... believe me when I say that apart from when I'm facing a crisis at work, or in the middle of an important meeting, I think of little other than you and me ... being alone together. It consumes me, occupying my waking thoughts far more than it should ….. but that isn't the reason I want to marry you."

"It isn't?"

"No." Harry looks down for a moment, and Ruth is afraid he's not about to qualify his response to her question. When his eyes again meet hers, his expression is serious. "I want you, Ruth ….. not just your body in my bed. I want everything with you. I want to join our lives. I want to eat my meals with you, climb the stairs with you at the end of the day, and wake up each morning to see you beside me. Ruth ….. when we part at the end of each day, it's like losing you all over again. Does that answer your question?"

"Some."

Harry drops his eyes to their joined hands, where he begins to rub his thumb across the inside of her wrist. Ruth feels a small shiver pass through her. Suddenly, merely holding hands with Harry is no longer enough. Ruth is ready ….. for more.


	3. Chapter 3

Ruth can't allow herself to fall into him. It would be so easy – so natural – for her to place her hand on his jaw, and kiss him. From there, she is sure that a trip up the stairs, her hand in his, would not be far behind. What is it she'd said to him? `The things we've done, Harry'.

Well, what about the things they'd done? Should that stop them having a life together? And what does Harry think about the things they've done ... the things _he's_ done? Ruth imagines that the book of the very worst of the things Harry has done would not make pleasant nighttime reading.

"Harry," she says, suddenly, curtly, so that Harry's thumb stills. "How can we have a life together? What about the lives we've both lived? What about the lives that have been lost?"

"You're talking about George, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am, but there are other things. We lie for a living."

"So do politicians and advertising executives, Ruth, and because of that we should not seek happiness together? Because George got caught up in the middle of a nasty operation and lost his life, we should spend the rest of our lives apart …... and miserable? How does that make sense? I'm talking about love, Ruth. Doesn't the world need more love?"

"You sound like a Richard Curtis movie."

Harry smiles slowly, as he drops her hand, and turns his body so that he faces her on the sofa. He hooks one leg under the other, and rests his arm along the back of the sofa, behind her shoulders, so that his face is close to hers. With his free hand, he reaches out and turns Ruth's chin towards him.

"What I'm suggesting, Ruth, is that we give it a chance …... we give us a chance. I shouldn't have asked you to marry me. That wasn't fair. But we need to do something, because where we are now is nowhere at all, and something has to be better than nothing."

Suddenly, Ruth wants them to being doing something, too. She can't stand doing nothing. She no longer wishes to spend all her nights alone …. with nothing to do, no-one to talk to.

"I no longer blame you for George, Harry. I deceived him by not telling him who I really was. I should never have lived with him, but I wasn't to know that what happened a year ago was about to happen."

"I know."

Harry is tired from talking. He doesn't want to talk any more. He wants to act, so he draws Ruth's face closer, and leans towards her until their lips meet. The kiss is soft, delicate, and careful. It is their first kiss in almost four years, and it is worth the wait. Ruth leans into him, and he wraps both his arms around her, and pulls her against him. This is what he has wanted. This is what he has missed with her. Before the kiss becomes passionate, he pulls away, leaning against the back of the sofa, and gazing down at her, one hand still resting at her waist. Her eyes glow in the reflected light from the gas heater, and the lamp shining dimly from the other side of the room. He wants to tell her he loves her, but there will be time for that another night.

"Harry," she says, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her fingers, "do you want to stay the night?"

He doesn't answer straight away, so she sits up, and drops her fingers from his face. He sees her movement, and reaches out to grasp her fingers in his.

"Ruth …. don't do that. I was thinking, that's all."

"What's there to think about?"

"I need to think whether this is moving too fast …... now we seem to want the same thing. I don't want us to be jumping straight into bed, just because we can."

"Why not? It's not as though we met earlier this evening, and we barely know one another. Harry …." Ruth waits until she has eye contact with him. "We've known one another for seven years. This is hardly a one-night stand. This is to be the beginning of ….."

"I know, Ruth. I know what you're saying."

"Do you? I always thought I was the one denying you, but Harry …... from where I'm sitting, you're just as scared as me, perhaps more so."

Harry leans back against the back of the sofa, his hand still grasping hers. Her eyes are fiery, and she appears angry. She's right. He is afraid. He wants her …... desperately …... but he is also afraid. He swallows, and Ruth's eyes are drawn to his Adam's apple, which bobs up and down.

"Harry …... please talk to me. I need to know what's going on. Firstly, you convinced me how much you want me, and now, when I've just asked you to stay, you say you need to _think_ about it?"

The one thing Harry detests most in the world – aside from unctuous politicians - is his own private fears. For a man who has to be brave in his everyday life, he is a coward with Ruth …. and he knows it. He was a coward with his ex-wife, and she never let him forget it. Whenever they needed to talk to one another, he'd suddenly be needed elsewhere. He was a coward when, all those years ago, he allowed Ruth to renege on their second dinner date, and he was a coward to stand by while she left to go into exile. He is still a coward, and he hates himself for it. He swallows again, and only then is he ready to speak.

But before he has spoken even one word, Ruth pulls away from him, stands, and heads towards the kitchen. He knows her well enough to recognise by the speed with which she moves, and her body language as she walks that all is not well. He sits stunned, watching her …... until she stops just inside the door to the kitchen, and reaches for the back of a chair.

Without thinking, he quickly gets up from the sofa, and follows her into the kitchen, where she holds on to the back of a chair, her hands tense, her head down, her shoulders now shuddering in time with the deep breaths she is taking. Still acting on instinct, Harry stands behind her, and winds his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. He feels some resistance in her body, but it lasts only a few brief moments, until he is able to pull her close enough so that her hips nestle against his groin, and he leans in so that his chest curves against her shoulders.

"Ruth," he says, his face against her hair. "Darling, I'm sorry. I'm really not very skilled at this kind of thing. Every woman I've ever cared about has ended up hating me because I can't say what I mean, and when I do speak, I say the wrong thing."

She surprises him by turning in his arms, and burying her face against his neck. "Just shut up, Harry," she says, and so he does.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Thank you to all who have followed this, and especially to the kind reviewers. This was written as something light, but unknowingly it became something a little more meaningful for the characters. This is the final chapter.**_

* * *

><p>Once she is in his arms, Ruth quickly calms, surrounded as she is by his warmth. Harry decides that he should simply hold her against him, enjoying the closeness. This is the longest they have spent in an embrace, and he is not about to end it. He also decides it is best he not speak.<p>

It is several minutes later when Ruth mumbles something against his shirt, so that he is not sure he hears her correctly.

"What?" he asks.

Ruth pulls away from him slightly, and says again, "How many were there?"

"How many what?"

"Women you've cared about."

"I don't know, Ruth. I wasn't counting."

"That many?"

"No. Not many. Other than you, maybe three, but you are the one with whom I wish to spend the rest of my life."

Harry looks down to find Ruth watching him carefully. He'd like to kiss her, but he knows she'd not appreciate that. She'd accuse him of trying to manipulate her. He watches as she wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan.

"Here," he says, taking a clean handkerchief from his trousers' pocket and handing it to her.

They draw apart while Ruth wipes her eyes and blows her nose, and Harry fills the kettle and sets it to boil, while he opens cupboard doors in search of cups and tea and sugar. Once the tea is made, they sit across the table from one another and drink their tea. Their words are few and light, while their thoughts are heavy.

Once he finishes his cup of tea, Harry looks at the clock on the microwave, stands, and takes his cup to the sink.

"It's time I went home," he says, not looking at her. He is about to turn to face Ruth, when he feels her standing close behind him, her palm resting against the middle of his back. To him, her touch feels intensely erotic. Harry takes a breath to calm himself.

"Please don't go," she says quietly, her breath on the back of his neck, like a summer breeze warming his skin.

"I don't want to go," he replies, equally as quietly, leaning so that his back is pressed against her front.

"Then why are you?"

"I thought it the right thing to do."

"This is me, Harry. This is us. _We_ need this. We don't have to do the right thing when it's not the right thing for us. We don't have to do anything tonight. It's late. But we need to spend the night together. We need intimacy. _I_ need you with me. If we're going to work as a couple, we have to begin somewhere … some time, and we have to do more than just talk about it."

Very slowly he turns to face her. Three steps forward – two and a half steps back. This is the way it has always been with them. Sometimes old habits are hard to change.

Ruth lifts her face to his, and kisses him. It is like a goodnight kiss, only longer.

"I'm going upstairs to get ready for bed. I'll have first use of the bathroom, and I'll put out a new toothbrush and a towel for you. Then I'll go to bed. You are most welcome to join me. I'd _like_ it were you to join me, but I'm not about to beg. This is one decision you'll have to make on your own."

She then steps past him, and leaves the kitchen. By the time he hears the water running in the bathroom upstairs, Harry is still standing in the kitchen where she'd left him. He takes a deep breath, and looks around the kitchen, and through the window into the black night beyond. The very last thing he wants right now is to leave Ruth and head home alone. He knows that were he to not take up her offer for him to join her in bed, she would not ask him again - ever - which would spell the end to any chance they have of being together. He finds it unbearable to imagine that some time in the future there may be no shred of hope left for them. He must be brave and give them a chance.

Harry waits until the water has stopped running, and then he climbs the stairs.

* * *

><p>Once she hears Harry using the toilet and the taps over the hand basin, Ruth closes her eyes. She is lying on the far side of the bed, her back turned towards the door. When he joins her in bed, she doesn't wish to appear too eager. It is clear Harry is afraid of taking this step with her, but why that is he has still not said.<p>

At last, the other side of the bed dips as he slides under the duvet, and shuffles towards her. Ruth rolls over to face him, so that their bodies touch, and their faces are close enough for them to kiss. Harry leans towards her to touch his lips on hers. It is a chaste kiss, but it is still rather nice, and Ruth enjoys it. He slides his arms around her, so that her head rests against his shoulder. Ruth remembers being with George, and the times when he and she had slept like this. She closes her eyes, attempting to erase the memory. George is dead. Harry is alive. She was grateful for George, but never loved him quite like she loves Harry. Harry has been part of her for longer than even she knows.

They remain in an embrace, until she feels him relax against her. Ruth wonders for a moment whether the spirit of Ros Myers has been with them that night, calling out to them through the veil, pushing them together, taunting them for being fearful. `It's just life', she'd say. `It's not that complicated, so just get on with it.'

"Harry ..." she says, "can you tell me why you're afraid to take this step with me …... with us? You seem afraid of intimacy, and yet …... I know you want us to …..."

Harry coughs to clear his throat, as though he is about to make a speech, and then she hears and feels him sigh. "Is this the right time to be talking about this?"

"Yes. It is. We have to address this before we go any further."

A full minute passes before Harry replies. "I've thought about this …... since you said no, and since …... you turned down the second dinner invitation, and you walked away from me that night at the Havensworth summit, and then you chose to go into exile." It is clear to Ruth he is getting a little worked up, but trying to stay calm. "Ruth, where you and I are concerned, you always leave me. If we … make love, even if we only do it once, your leaving me will be so much more painful. I've already lost so much in my life …... I don't think I could bear to lose you again."

Ruth waits, but he has said his piece. She reaches up to take his face in her hands, and then she gently places her lips on his. He responds to the kiss, but she can feel him being careful.

"Thank you …. for your honesty," she says, once they have pulled out of the kiss, and her head is again resting against his shoulder. "I needed you to tell me that. You've been protecting yourself. That is something I can relate to."

"You don't think I'm being paranoid?"

"Only a little. I lost you too, Harry. It wasn't easy wandering around Europe, knowing I couldn't talk to you, and in all probability, would never see you again. All I can say is that I am now prepared to commit to you, and that if we're parted some time in the future, it won't be my doing."

Harry responds by pulling her closer to him, so that they both lay on their sides facing one another. Her body curves against his, so that they touch all the way from their heads to their feet. When they again kiss, she pushes her pelvis against him in an unconscious demonstration of want. She feels the shape of him inside his trunks as he slowly swells against her lower abdomen as the kiss deepens. His hands seek bare skin under her camisole, the fingers of one hand pressing under the waistband of her pyjama pants, gliding across the skin of one buttock, while the thumb of his other hand glances over her nipple, causing her to gasp, and so he pulls back from her, and she grasps his shoulders to prevent him moving any further away from her.

"I'm …... I'm trying to not go too far tonight, Ruth." He looks at her, his desire clear in the darkness of his eyes. "Tomorrow night I'd like to take you to dinner, then come back here – or to mine, I don't much care, so long as there's a warm bed handy – and then we can …... take this step …... together."

She nods, disappointed, but knowing he's right. It's been a stressful evening, and they are both tired. For now, being together in bed is enough. Harry has already removed his hands from inside her clothing, and he has placed one hand on her hip and the other on the mattress between them. She kisses him again, a soft touch of her lips on his.

Harry closes his eyes, relieved that he had decided to contact her tonight, and even more relieved that he chose to stay and share Ruth's bed. He knows there will be times when either one or both of them mess this up, but they will get through it …. like they always have. He now knows for sure that he and Ruth are happier together than they are apart. Together they may sometimes be a bit uncoordinated and clumsy, but apart they are both completely lost.

"I can't wait for tomorrow night," Ruth says sleepily, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

"Me too," he replies, and he means it.

He and Ruth are no longer an `almost'... they are very nearly complete. Harry's last conscious thought before he falls asleep is that he no longer feels afraid.


End file.
